Ststyrofoaml Sail Boats

Celebrations ...

Everyone is on vacation, everybody goes shopping, Christmas markets fragrant mulled wine
Garlands in the streets, garland hearts.

And then there are bakers.
The baker, between excitation into anxiety. Celebrations ... or sales of the year.
The day you've never kneaded rye as the day's papers command invade the walls of the lab, the day where you run from noon on the day when the oven is never empty .
The day the customers are lining up behind the shop 50m, the day we launched 3 more mixers tradition, the day the baskets are hardly fulfilled already empty and the much awaited respite yet shifted.
is the day that everything moves, where nothing stops.

The day when one wants his bed, where it is better not to think about sleeping comrades,
but also a breath of excitement, feel part of a great adventure where each is useful, where everyone is needed. The day the client MUST leave his happy with his rye rye rye
his (the client eat too many oysters, you say you)

The day we head for tens of hours without even report,
where you were going home completely washed

is the 24th.
Then the week is crazy.
(well, where I work is particular: FOUR neighboring bakeries are closed!)
Every day is like Saturday.
Pfouh.

And now we know, the worst happens. The
31.
death.
You say that the neighborhood was concerted.
you do not understand why people do not make their bread at home (yes bin?)
then you immediately regret this thought

you dream a moment in the day when you entrepreneur
you imagine these days of 24 and 31 where the cash drawer does not even have time to close between two clients.
and then you say that Christmas is good, anyway.

Moments of sweet illusions.

Then your boss wakes you up.
It's not over.
patties. You fart
weights.